


show me some stars beneath this ceiling

by petitepeach



Series: maybe it starts now [4]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Communication, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Lots of it, M/M, and we're back with these mecs, eliott takes lucas on a date, my new official tag thank, of course, these tags are a mess so is the author so is the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitepeach/pseuds/petitepeach
Summary: They aresomething. Something serious, maybe, but they are only something. The relationship equivalent of a liminal space. And Lucas is fine with that.or, Eliott takes Lucas on a date, things are realized, and terms are set





	show me some stars beneath this ceiling

**Author's Note:**

> we had a period of about two weeks in edinburgh where it felt like it never stopped raining
> 
> that's where this fic came from
> 
> y'all already know that title
> 
> (the thing is, i'm not even sure if this is fitting in with the series anymore. it's like these are turning into somewhat-related one shots, especially with me experimenting a bit with style - i don't know if i mind it so much, it seems to be the way my writing is going, but i'm worried you mecs will be like....what is this girl doing)
> 
> hopefully it's still enjoyable!!

“Lucas, you forgot one.”

“What?” Lucas turns, craning his neck to glance backwards, balancing the stack of books in his arms that’s almost reaching his chin. He sees Hugo, a benevolent smile on his face and a paperback Proust in his hand. “Fuck off,” Lucas mutters, but he still goes back, still lets Hugo gently place the book on the top of his pile.

“You’re an angel,” Hugo says, blowing him a kiss as he walks away. “A credit to this institution. A real go-getter. An employee who does the basic amount of work his manager asks of him.”

If Lucas’ hands were free, he would happily flip Hugo off, but as it is he just scowls down at Proust and his dumb, moustached face and tries to make it to the fiction section without injuring himself of any of the dozens of customers flitting around the shelves.

It’s a Friday, and the Three Fates Bookshop is busy. Really busy. Maybe it’s because of term finishing up, giving an entire population of students an endless stream of free time. Maybe it’s because Paris is creeping into the high tourist season, Lucas’ walk to work taking longer every day because of all the foot traffic. Or maybe it’s because of how there’s been on-and-off rain all week, a constant cloud cover creating a more subdued, introspective mood in the city, the kind that lends itself well to afternoons spent reading in cafés.

No matter what the causes may be, the result is Lucas working double shifts and spending them carting stacks of books from the stock room to the floor to the register and back to the floor.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Lucas stops and plasters a pleasant smile on his face for the woman that gentle taps his shoulder. “Yes?” He adjusts his grip on the mountain of books in his arms, ignoring the dull ache in his shoulders.

“I was hoping you could help me find the romance section.” The woman reminds Lucas of his _grand-mère_ , sweet and soft-spoken, but with a cheeky shine to her eye. “I’m in need of something _exciting_.” Her voice is dripping with conspiratorial mirth, and Lucas laughs.

“Sure. You’ll find romance at the very end of that row of shelves there.” He points with his chin towards the back, to where a few genres are sectioned off. “I should have a colleague near there who can recommend you something.” Samantha always spends her shifts hiding in the far corners to read romance novels anyway. She should put her expertise to good use.

The woman thanks him and leaves, but not before she reaches out a pinches Lucas on the cheek. “Very helpful,” she says, “and very handsome.”

Lucas laughs, again, and will never admit to anyone _ever_ how he blushes, how his eyes automatically drift down to the floor.

It’s like all he does is blush these days.

It’s all Eliott’s fault.

Eliott. A storm of soft touches, deep kisses, and words that make Lucas believe in possibilities other than _ruin_.

Lucas rubs his left cheek into his own shoulder, as if that will stave off the blush kissing at his skin, his face probably bright pink under the fluorescent lights, thinking about the last time he saw Eliott, last weekend when they went out with the gang to a concert, some local band Lucas doesn’t know, but Yann and Eliott apparently really like. Halfway through the concert, though, Eliott had pulled Lucas away, into a dimly lit halfway that led to the bathrooms.

_“Come on,” Eliott’s saying, tugging Lucas by the hand. “Come here.”_

_“You know,” Lucas grins, glancing around the empty hallway. “This reminds me a lot of another time we snuck off to a dark hallway.”_

_Eliott pushes Lucas gently against the wall and takes his face into his hands. He drags a thumb slowly down to Lucas’ lips, lingering along the bottom one, and Lucas is pressing up into his hands, mouth opening under the gentle touch. He’s being obvious, demanding to be kissed, and he absolutely doesn’t care. “You’re right,” Eliott says, voice low. Lucas shivers. “It’s exactly like that. I still want to kiss you just as badly. So badly it’s…” he laughs, once, cuts himself off._

_Lucas thinks his whole body must be vibrating by now. “It’s what?”_

_“Nothing,” Eliott says, then he’s dipping his head down, Lucas is surging up on his toes, and they’re so close, Lucas can practically taste the smoke on Eliott’s breath and he wants more, more…_

_“You’re so gorgeous.” Eliott breathes into Lucas’ mouth. “Can’t believe you’re here with me.”_

_Lucas can’t help it, he literally can’t help the scoff that comes out of his throat at that, because really, has Eliott seen himself? Lucas can’t believe Eliott has even looked at him twice._

_Abruptly, Eliott is gone. Not too far, hands still warm on the sides of Lucas’ neck, but he’s far enough away that they’re not kissing, and Lucas whines at the loss._

_“What…” He starts, but Eliott cuts him off._

_“Why do you do that?” His tone isn’t accusatory, just curious, gentle. “Why do you not believe me when I tell you things like that?”_

_Lucas balks. His mouth is still parted, the way it was when Eliott’s lips were practically on his, and he clamps it shut. “I can’t.” He says, the softness of the question making it easy for him to give an honest answer. Or at least, as honest as he can give. “It’s not easy.” He’s hoping Eliott can pick up on what he’s not saying, that Eliott feels so far out of his league he might as well exist in another galaxy, but Lucas has been careful with his words since the art show. He thinks of it as self-preservation, him holding back enough that Eliott can’t already see how far he’s gone. How hopeless it is for him._

_And Eliott is somehow able to get part of it.“Well,” he says, dipping his head back down so he can Lucas are level again, bypassing his mouth to gently press his lips to Lucas’ neck. “I’m going to keep telling you, just so you know.” His mouth travels up Lucas’ neck, to his cheek. “I’m going to keep telling you until you believe that I mean it.”_

_Lucas is breathing hard; Eliott must be able to feel how fast is heart is beating with how closely they’re pressed together. It is, Lucas thinks, exactly like when they first met, because here is Eliott telling Lucas everything he’s ever wanted to hear from someone, and here’s Lucas thinking,_ How? How are you real?

_They kiss, long and slow and deep and Lucas lets himself think it, the thought sweet like Eliott’s lips, decadent like the slow slide of Eliott’s hands down his back._

_Eliott wants me. Right now, Eliott wants me._

Now, Lucas gets a little lost in the memory, blushing and trying not to trip and still trying to balance this fucking stack of books when his heart is beating a staccato rhythm of _Eli-ott, Eli-ott, Eli-ott._

It is, unfortunately for Lucas, a regular occurrence at work, getting distracted just by the thought of Eliott, getting sidetracked when he tries to do the most basic tasks, getting lost in his daydreams at the most inappropriate times.

 _You’re hopeless_ , Hugo said to him that morning when they were counting the tills and Lucas kept messing up the coins. He doesn’t know how right he is. _Hopeless._

He leans most of the weight from the books back onto his chest, freeing a hand to shelve the Proust when he finally reaches the “P” in fiction. He keeps going, moving into “R” and “S”, sliding the books into place while trying to avoid eye contact with customers so they don’t ask him for help and also trying not to think about Eliott. Eliott, with his eyes and his hands and his words and how he texted Lucas that morning asking if he was free that night. Lucas had responded, saying he had a long day at work but would be done by four, and hadn’t heard anything since.

But it was fine. He and Eliott didn’t have to talk all the time.

It was a mantra to Lucas now. They are _something_. Something serious, maybe, but they are only something. The relationship equivalent of a liminal space. And Lucas is fine with that.

He’s only halfway through his stack, and is trying to shelve a copy of _The Goldfinch_ except it’s on the top shelf and _fucking hell_ Lucas really doesn’t want to go find the step stool because the step stool is never where it’s supposed to be, and Hugo always laughs at Lucas when he has to use it because he’s tall and Lucas is, _fine_ , well he’s vertically challenged—

“I’ve got it.”

The book is plucked easily from Lucas’ grasp and placed on the top shelf, by a long arm covered in black denim, attached to a large, warm body at Lucas’ back that smells like smoke and rain.

Lucas almost hates the way his whole self is set on edge, the way his throat catches and his skin feels extra sensitive, suddenly, beneath his t-shirt. He almost hates the way the store suddenly doesn’t seem as crowded, the fluorescent lights suddenly don’t seem as harsh, the rain suddenly doesn’t seem as gloomy.

Almost hates it, for it’s cliché. For it’s sheer romanticism. Almost.

He turns around and there he is. A dream of boyish smiles and half-moon eyes.

“Hi,” Lucas says, well aware of how stupid his face must look, sugar-sweet infatuation eating the tail end of surprise.

“Hi,” Eliott says back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking forwards onto his toes.

There’s a beat where they just look at each other.

Lucas clears his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Eliott’s head tilts to the side, eyebrows furrowing. “Well, I…I’m here to pick you up. You said you were done at four, right?”

Lucas is surprised to note that it is, in fact, five minutes to four when he glances at the clock hanging over the till. “Oh,” is all he says, struck dumb.

Eliott’s smile falters; not much, but enough for Lucas to notice. “Is that not okay? Sorry, I didn’t ask if that would make you uncomfortable in front of—”

“No. No!” Lucas cuts him off loudly, wincing when a few curious heads turn in their direction. “No, that’s okay. More than okay. I just wasn’t expecting it. Sorry.” Eliott’s smile is back to its full wattage, and Lucas feels like he can breathe again. He blurts out, “I missed you,” and it’s true, he did. This week was a mess of family obligations and conflicting work schedules, resulting in the two of them only speaking to each other over text, usually late at night.

Eliott’s eyes are soft. “I missed you too.” He braces a hand up on one of the shelves next to Lucas’ head and slowly closes the distance between them. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about all week. Seeing you again.”

Lucas lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says back to Eliott, blissfully ignoring the fact that they’re in the middle of his workplace, that Hugo’s probably watching the whole thing from the stock room door and is already planning on teasing Lucas endlessly for it.

“You look beautiful today.” Eliott says, easy as anything, as though he just said, _it’s raining today_. Lucas feels his body go a bit slack, his lips parting a little. “Fuck, I can’t wait to kiss you.”

They both jump back when the books in Lucas’ arms cascade to the floor with various _smacks_ and _bangs_ , a yelp startling out of Lucas’ mouth. If there was anyone not staring at them before, they definitely are now.

Lucas’ face is on _fire_. He crouches to the ground and starts picking the books up, waving Eliott away when he also bends to help.

“You’re too distracting,” Lucas huffs at him. “Wait for me by the door, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Alright. Cute name tag, by the way.”

Lucas opens his mouth to say something very rude, but his eyes catch on someone else’s over Eliott’s shoulder. It’s the woman from earlier. She has two mass markets clutched in her hands and she’s positively beaming at Lucas and Eliott, going so far as to shift her books to one arm so she can point conspicuously at Eliott and give Lucas a thumbs up.

Eliott wanders off, humming, at ease with the havoc he’s wreaked.

 _Hurricane Eliott_.

Lucas finishes gathering the books and does an, admittedly, half-assed job at reshelving them before he scurries back to the stock room.

He manages to get his jacket and backpack without being seen, but Hugo catches him just when he’s passing the till.

“Hello! Who is that?” He whispers fiercely, grabbing onto Lucas’ sleeve. He’s pointing at Eliott, who’s leaning against a wall and flipping through a copy of Ovid’s _Amores_. Lucas watches as two teenage girls walk by him, both of them stopping to do double-takes, both of them whispering furiously as they disappear into the travel section.

“That…” Lucas says with a sigh, “is Eliott.”

Hugo lets out a low whistle. “That’s the guy you’ve been seeing? Well fuck me.”

Lucas groans, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“I’m just saying. He could be a Greek god. He could be Eros.”

“Yeah.” (model, angel, ancient deity, _whatever_.) “I know.”

Hugo tilts his head at Lucas, considering, a soft smile on his face. “You two are well-matched,” he finally says, bopping Lucas on the nose. “Old gods inhabiting lost boys. Now get out of here, I’m sick of your pretty face.”

Eliott’s still skimming the Ovid when Lucas stops in front of him, and Lucas takes a moment just to stare at him, to see Eliott the way Hugo must have, the way those girls must have. The most gorgeous boy he’s ever seen, framed by a wide window splattered with rain and reading Latin poetry. Yeah, Lucas would swoon. He is.

“Hi.” He says, and the image is better, beyond imagining now because Eliott looks up and smiles, because he’s happy to see Lucas. Because he came to pick Lucas up. Because he _missed_ Lucas.

The whole thing is impossible.

Eliott puts the Ovid away and holds an arm out expectantly. “You coming?”

Lucas grins so wide his cheeks strain with it, and he goes. He tucks himself into Eliott’s side and Eliott’s arm is around his shoulders and together they leave the fluorescent lights and shelves overflowing with stories to venture out into the pouring rain.

 

 

“I want to take you on a date.” Eliott says as they duck under awnings and veer away from umbrellas. “You know we haven’t been on one yet? It’s just not right. We need to appease the universe.”

Lucas giggles, light as air. It’s so easy like this, to lose himself in banter with Eliott, to think of them as _Lucas &Eliott_, together, and to think about nothing else. “What are you talking about? We’ve been on dates.”

“Please,” Eliott scoffs. “Group outings do not count. I swear, Idriss is the biggest romance-killer I know.”

“I disagree. I actually think he’s a true romantic.” Lucas curls himself into Eliott’s side to avoid a group of tourists in brightly-patterned raincoats. “Also, didn’t we go out for coffee last week?” He snaps his fingers. “And we went to the cinema!”

“Sure,” Eliott drawls, tightening his arm around Lucas’ shoulders, the motion pulling Lucas’ hood back enough that a fat raindrop lands on his nose. Lucas huffs an annoyed breath and tugs it back over his forehead. “We’ve been out. But we haven’t been on a _date_ date.”

Lucas barks a laugh. They’re stopped at an intersection, a sea of speeding cars kicking up puddles, crowds parting around them like schools of fish. “And what, Monsieur Demaury, is a _date_ date? Where do we go for that?”

“Er, well.” Eliott falters like he did in the shop, a little crack in his smooth confidence. “We’re not going out, actually. We’re staying in.”

Lucas tilts his head back to look at him. “Really?”

“Not for that. Well, maybe for that later? But not just for that.” Lucas bites his lip to keep from laughing. Eliott sighs. “I have something planned.”

“Okay.” Lucas says, and leaves it at that because Eliott looks _nervous_ , is the thing, and Lucas normally would find that ridiculous, that he could make Eliott nervous, but there he is, looking up at Eliott who’s very pointedly looking away from him, running his fingers over his lips distractedly. “Hey.” Lucas butts his head into Eliott’s bicep, waits for Eliott to look down at him. “I just want to spend time with you. Whatever we do.”

Eliott’s smile is small, shy, and when he bends down to kiss Lucas in the middle of a crowded intersection in Paris, he tastes like rain.

 

 

Eliott’s place is actually closer to the shop than Lucas’, but they’re both still soaked by the time they arrive.

It’s quiet inside the apartment, the sound of the rain softened away from the street, the light coming in from the window muted and grey.

As soon as Lucas gets inside, he starts pulling off layers, shucking his wet jacket to the floor and taking off his damp sneakers and socks.

“Where are Sofiane and Idriss?”

Eliott picks Lucas’ jacket up and shakes it out, hanging it on a hook next to the door. He tugs off his brown bomber and hangs it up next to it. “Idriss is out with some guys from his program, and Sofiane is at Imane’s, I think.”

Lucas grins, walking over to Eliott, bare feet padding across the cold wood floor. He wraps his arms around Eliott’s waist, presses his face into the soft, damp material of Eliott’s hoodie. “So we have the place to ourselves?”

Eliott’s hands rest on Lucas’ forearms, then he’s turning, those hands dancing up the bare skin of Lucas’ biceps to the edge of his t-shirt, goosebumps following in their wake. Eliott notices, rubs his hands back down Lucas’ arms. “Are you cold?” He asks, frowning. “We usually don’t turn the heat on after April.”

Lucas is shivering, and he is cold, but that’s only part of it. There’s a bigger part of it that has something to do with Eliott’s big hands on him; with Eliott’s eyes seeking his own out, a pale grey that matches the sky; with the knowledge that he’s there, with Eliott, and they have the apartment to themselves. They’re alone and they’re on a date. Eliott _planned_ something.

All he says is, “I’m a bit cold,” but he doesn’t do anything except fold himself into Eliott’s arms, tilts his chin up to ask for a kiss.

Eliott gives him one, but it’s short, a chaste press of lips that has Lucas chasing him back for another. Eliott holds his face in his hands, gently pushes him back.

“You can shower, if you want.”

Lucas considers it, hot water and Eliott’s body wash that smells like mint. “Yeah. I want to. Do you want to join me?” He tries to make it seductive like he’s seen people do in films, lowers his lashes and puts some rasp into his voice, pressing the front of his body into Eliott’s.

Eliott, however, just shakes his head. “I need to get some things ready.”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Lucas murmurs, widening his eyes. “Things. He has to get _things_ ready. And people say romance is dead.”

“Romance is not dead.” Eliott says emphatically, pressing a kiss to Lucas’ wet hair. “I’ll show you, Lallemant.”

“Big words,” Lucas teases, dancing away from him towards the bathroom. “But I don’t know, in my experience, guys tend to overemphasize their own skills.”

Eliott reaches out for him, and Lucas is too slow to dodge, gets pulled back to Eliott by strong hands gripping his hips. Eliott lands a firm slap on Lucas’ ass and Lucas cackles, slipping out of his hold again, the sensation of Eliott’s eyes following after him palpable, like a gentle finger trailing down his spine.

“The only thing that’s being overemphasized here,” Eliott calls after him, “is you with your own height.”

Lucas flips him off before he shuts the bathroom door.

 

The thing is, the shower is a good idea. Lucas stays underneath the hot water for far too long, letting his muscles begin to unknot from the end of a long work week. He knows Eliott’s been working a lot too, at a café close to the university, usually in the evenings while Lucas works mornings.

So Lucas spends a long time in the shower, but he doesn’t spend too long, because it’s been almost a week since he’s properly seen Eliott and he needs to be kissed and cuddled like, right now.

When he steps out the mirror is fogged, there’s a towel placed on the rack near the door, and a small pile of clothes on the counter: a pair of Eliott’s briefs, sweatpants, thick socks and the grey sweatshirt Lucas borrowed the first time he stayed over at Eliott’s, which has now become the one he always wears when he comes over.

Lucas does not, absolutely does not smell the sweatshirt before he puts it on.

(If he did, he could tell you it smells like Eliott, but it also smells a bit like him. It smells like them, together. But Lucas can’t tell you that. Because he didn’t smell it.)

Eliott is in the kitchen when he leaves the bathroom, watching something that’s heating in the oven. There’s a light on above the stove, and two candles on the table, but other than that the room is dim. The grey outside is shifting, that in-between time where afternoon and evening both shrug and say, _does it matter?_ Lucas can hear a record playing faintly. Not dubstep for once, but something acoustic.

Eliott has changed into sweats and a black t-shirt. His towel-dried hair stands up in messy spikes, his posture is a little hunched as he stares at whatever is cooking, and he looks just as stunning as he did when Lucas first saw him at that party, but it’s more now because Lucas knows him.

He thinks of the art show, when the storm was only a gathering of thunderclouds in the distance. Now, there’s lighting in his veins.

He thinks of when he sat on that counter, the morning after they met, how he’d said _I’ve been holding you back telling you everything, absolutely everything about me._

He releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and that alerts Eliott to his presence. Eliott turns to him and there’s no chance for self-preservation, there never was because just as it’s been every time since then, _What am I supposed to do when he smiles at me like that?_

“Hi.” Lucas says softly.

“Hi.” Eliott takes three long steps over to Lucas and he’s wrapping him up into his arms, burying his face in Lucas’ neck. “You smell good.” Eliott murmurs into his skin, nosing the collar of the sweatshirt aside to kiss where his neck meets his shoulder.

Lucas rolls his eyes. “I smell like you.”

“No.” Eliott kisses him again, mouth lingering on Lucas’ skin, bushing against it with each word. “I mean, you do, but you still smell like you. You smell like us. I like it.”

Lucas fingers flex, tightening and loosening their hold on Eliott’s t-shirt.

Eliott exhales an anxious giggle against his neck and then he’s pulling away, kissing Lucas once on the cheek on his way up. “Okay,” he says, moving his hands from Lucas’ back to his shoulders. “Are you ready for the date?”

Lucas purses his lips. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Did you make whatever’s in the oven?”

Eliott sputters an offended laugh. “You’re such a shit,” he says, but it’s punctuated with a swift kiss to Lucas’ forehead. “And if it really bothers you, no, I didn’t make it.”

Lucas peers around Eliott’s shoulder at the oven, but can’t see inside. His eyes dart over to the recycling bin, where he can see a frozen pizza box hastily folded down. He can’t help the grin that stretches across his face. “Eliott?”

Eliott hums in response, pulling two plates out of the cabinet.

“Are you heating up frozen pizza on date night?”

The answer is clear in the way Eliott’s eyes dart up to Lucas, then back to the oven, then back to Lucas. “Erm…” He starts. “Maybe.”

Lucas erupts into laughter.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Eliott whines, placing the plates down on the table. “You know I can’t cook for shit, and I knew you’d be hungry. _Don’t_ ,” he says as Lucas’ laughter continues, his own shoulders shaking with silent giggles. “I bought the expensive one from the nice grocery store and everything.”

“What was it you were saying about romance being alive and well?”

“There’s champagne in the fridge too!”

“And are we drinking out of plastic cups, or…?”

Eliott freezes from where he was pulling two plastic champagne cups out of a cupboard. “No.”

Lucas collapses against the counter, gasping for breath between bouts of laughter.

“Whatever!” Eliott yells, taking the cups out and slamming them down on the table. “You’re so unappreciative. See if I every try to do anything nice for my boyfriend ever again.”

And Lucas actually nearly chokes, breath caught between chest and throat, whole body locking up because _what—_

Lucas at once becomes overly aware of the room, of the flickering candle light and rain smattering against the windows and record still playing softly and Eliott—

_Eliott—_

Eliott is walking around like he’s angry, but he’s smiling to himself, laying out cutlery and checking the pizza and turning back to Lucas.

Lucas, who is in the midst of a breakdown because—

_Boyfriend—_

(Lucas is an island and this is the hurricane.)

“Hey,” Eliott says gently, meeting Lucas’ eyes. “You okay? Are you actually upset it’s not fancier? I guess we could’ve gone to a restaurant or something but honestly I’m pretty broke and I really thought you would like—”

“Are you…” Lucas’ voice is strangled, high. He trails off and Eliott tilts his head at him, questioning. “Are we…I’m…boyfriend?” He finishes weakly, voice squeaking out the word and it’s embarrassing, because he can barely even say it, can barely acknowledge this thing that he has been convincing himself for an entire month was not a possibility.

His mind, unwittingly, unwelcome, thinks about Benoît, about the moment he and Lucas became boyfriends.

 _You can call me your boyfriend_ , Ben said casually, while Lucas had been gathering his clothes off of Ben’s floor. _It’s fine. I know you’ve been wanting to._

Lucas had paused, jeans halfway up his legs. _Really? Do you want that?_

Ben shrugged. _It’s just a term thing, isn’t it? Doesn’t really mean anything._

The thing is it did mean something to Lucas, at the time. But he played it off, acted like it didn’t matter, and now he’s scared, because it’s Eliott saying it, and he’s staring at Lucas, confused, eyes pale in the low light.

“Yes?” Eliott says. “Do you not think of us as boyfriends?”

Lucas almost laughs because this is absolutely not a conversation he expected to have today. Or maybe ever, but he doesn’t laugh because Eliott looks nervous. He looks…unhappy.

“Well, I…I mean, we haven’t talked about it, have we?”

“I thought we already did.”

“When?” Lucas’ voice rises up an octave. “When did we talk about it?”

“The…” Eliott pauses. His voice grows quieter. “That first day together. In this kitchen. We said this was something serious. Do you not remember?”

_Oh my god._

It’s possible Lucas has slipped into an alternate timeline again, that he’s stealing another Lucas’ place, the Lucas who has Eliott Demaury looking at him and saying the very thing he’s been blocking out of his own mind over and over.

He says nothing, overwhelmed, so Eliott keeps going.

“Lucas, we’ve been seeing each other for a month. We sleep over at each other’s places. We stay up all night talking all the time. I don’t…is that not dating?”

Lucas reaches behind himself to grip the counter, to hold onto something solid. With the way Eliott looks, dressed all in black, face half in shadow, half in candlelight, he really could be a character from a Greek tragedy. Lucas doesn’t know why, but he feels himself bristle, hiding his soft insides from Eliott’s searing gaze. It’s too much, it’s too much for him to believe. It feels like the universe is playing a massive joke on him and he’s sharp, disbelieving. “Okay, yeah, for a month, Eliott! People do that all the time without the…” Ben’s face, again. A reminder of how this usually goes. “…the term thing.”

“ _Term thing?_ Is that all you think of it?” Lucas opens his mouth to reply but Eliott barrels on. “Lucas, that first night we spent together? I don’t know about you but I’ve never experienced anything like that. Ever. With anyone. And now we…well we’re together, aren’t we? I’ve been calling you my boyfriend for a _month_ , ever since you came to the art show and everyone started asking, because I really like you, god, I like you so much, it’s as though you’re _made_ for me, and I thought we were together like that. From the start. Am I…am I wrong?” Lucas’ mind is whirling _(made for me, made for each other, since the art show)_ and his heart breaking with the look of dejection crossing Eliott’s face. “Have I been wrong this whole time?”

“I…I didn’t think…” Eliott’s face is closing off, bit by bit and Lucas wants to say something, do something to fix it, but he’s so shocked, he’s at a loss. He can’t believe the entire time he’s been telling himself to back off, that he and Eliott weren’t that, Eliott’s been saying they are.

He’s absolutely terrified. He has an entire lifetime of proof to back up being terrified.

Eliott may look the part, but Lucas thinks it may actually be himself who’s the hero in the Greek tragedy, fatally flawed and destined to fall.

(Was it self-preservation or self-sabotage?)

An alarm rings from Eliott’s phone, startling them both. Eliott sighs, walks over to the counter, silences it, and slips on an oven mitt so he can take the pizza out of the oven. Lucas watches as he gently sets it down on the stove top, watches as he places his hands on the counter and hangs his head forward, the muscles in his back knotted like tree roots.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Eliott says without looking up. “I didn’t mean to…” He laughs once, darkly. “I can be intense, remember? If you don’t feel the same way, it’s fine. I’m sorry. It’s not my right to assume things.”

“No.” Lucas whispers, and the word nudges him out of his stupor. _No._ “No.” _Eliott_. “Eliott.” He takes a step forward, then another. Another, until he’s at Eliott’s back. He reaches his hands up, then lets them fall to his sides. “I’m sorry.” Lucas whispers. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize.”

“No, I—” Lucas does reach his hands up now, gently rests them on Eliott’s back. “I’ve been holding back. A lot. I didn’t think we would…” Lucas licks his lips, takes a deep breath. “I feel the same way Eliott. But I’m scared.”

Eliott turns his head to side and Lucas wraps his arms around his torso, pressing his face into Eliott’s back.

“I’m scared,” he repeats, voice small and muffled by Eliott’s t-shirt. “Because things like this haven’t worked out well for me. You’ve met Ben, but he’s…not the only one. So I’m scared because I’ve never felt anything like this either. With anyone. I don’t want to lose it.”

“You don’t think I’ve had heartbreak, too?” Eliott’s voice is soft, sad. He gently trails his fingers across Lucas’ forearms, the same way he did in the hallway, only that moment feels years away from this one. “You don’t think I’m scared? You could hurt me if you wanted to, Lucas.”

“How—” Lucas cuts himself off, but suddenly it’s jumping out of him, he has to say it. “I don’t understand how that’s possible. I’m me and you’re you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re gorgeous, you’re literally the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen, and you’re cool and mysterious and talented, Eliott you’re _so talented_ and smart, and I just never thought this would last so I’ve been more or less preparing for—”

“Okay, but I’m a person, Lucas. I’m not perfect. You have no idea how far from perfect.”

Eliott’s fingers drop away from Lucas’ arms and that’s not good, that’s not what should be happening and Lucas can feel Eliott slipping away from him so he takes a breath and ducks under Eliott’s arm, puts himself in the space between Eliott and the counter and stares up at him, determinedly waits him out, until Eliott is looking back at him.

“You’re right.” Lucas says. “Eliott you’re right, I’m sorry. I just thought you were…I dunno, just waiting until someone better came along.” It sounds trite to his own ears. He tries again. “I didn’t trust it, because it was so intense from that start. Because it seemed to good to be true, right from the first second.”

Eliott is shaking his head. “You’re wrong. Well, not about how it seemed to good to be true because I thought the same thing, Lucas. I thought I was too much too soon for you because you are just…amazing. You’re special. And I know you’re going to roll your eyes but I think you’re the most beautiful person.” Eliott’s voice grows soft. “The most.”

Lucas doesn’t roll his eyes, but he blinks and feels them getting wet in the corners so he looks down.

“But you’re wrong if you think there’s someone better. You don’t have to tell me everything about your past. That’s your business. Just know that ever since I’ve met you, you’re the only one who matters.”

“ _God_ ,” Lucas says, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “ _Eliott_.” He won’t cry. He absolutely won’t cry.

Gentle fingers take hold of Lucas’ wrists, tugging his hands away from his face. “I’m sorry,” Eliott says again, and Lucas has no idea why he’s apologizing when he’s literally giving Lucas _everything_. “Intense, I know,” he says. “I don’t want to overwhelm you like this. Maybe we need to just…”

“Just give me a minute.” Lucas breathes. “I swear, you better not backtrack on anything you’ve said because I’ve literally _dreamed_ of hearing this from you. I just need…one minute.”

And Eliott smiles. “Okay,” he whispers. He kisses Lucas’ knuckles, cradles Lucas’ hands against his chest. “After your minute, I want to ask you something.”

Lucas lets out a laugh, a half-breath caught in his chest. “Okay.”

Eliott waits quietly, still holding his hands.

Lucas lets himself think, really think about how he was preparing for the worst for no reason other than he didn’t think he would have this, how he was wrong the entire time, how Eliott wants this just as much as he does, how he could have this. He thinks he really could.

 _Maybe this time it really is different_.

“Okay,” he says again, curling his fingers into Eliott's. “What did you want to ask me?”

Eliott takes a step closer to Lucas, gently backs him further into the counter. “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”

Lucas’ laugh borders on hysterical. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that.”

“You're sure? You’re going to have to deal with me.”

“Well you’re going to have to deal with me.”

“I’m cool with that.” Eliott is laughing too, they’re both giggling against one another, the tension in the room slipping out of the cracks in the windows like smoke. “Fucking hell, I should have asked you that the first day, saved us both a lot of anxiety.”

“Then we wouldn’t have had to have the weirdest argument in history.”

“That wasn’t an argument. Was it?”

Lucas pries his hands free from Eliott’s grasp and cups the sides of his face. “Maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know. But now we’re boyfriends.”

Eliott is smiling so wide, and he’s leaning down, hands sliding along Lucas’ waist until they’re at his back, and he’s kissing him, a chaste peck that Lucas stands up on his toes to deepen, slow, wet presses of lips that have Eliott sighing into his mouth, hands snaking underneath Lucas’ sweater to touch his skin.

“It’s good,” Eliott breathes between one kiss and the next. “That we’ve sorted that.”

“Yeah.” Lucas is the one who goes for Eliott’s neck, kissing down the long line of it, biting down gently. _Boyfriends. We’re boyfriends. Eliott Demaury is my boyfriend._

“It's good because I planned tonight to celebrate the fact that we’ve been dating for a month.”

Lucas stops, pulls his head back enough to see Eliott’s faint blush, his sheepish smile.

“Eliott.”

“Happy anniversary?”

“Oh my _god_.”

 

 

The pizza actually is quite good, Lucas falling all over himself to _compliment the chef_ , Eliott in turn telling him pleasantly to _fuck off_.

The words are harsh but the delivery is gentle, Eliott punctuating them with a kiss to the side of Lucas’ head.

They’re both gentle with each other, tentative after the unexpected emotional breakdown in the kitchen. It’s not wary so much as it is soft: soft smiles pressed against fingertips, soft eyes over the tops of plastic champagne cups, soft touches onto each other’s knees, trailing up thighs, across shoulders. It’s the wonder of _we’re together now, aren’t we, officially_ , with the cautious relief and lingering fear of, _we could have really hurt one another if we didn’t talk about this_.

Lucas knows they will need to talk about it more. He wants to give Eliott a better explanation of his past, wants him to properly understand why Lucas was acting the way he was, why he thought what he did. He’s nervous to open it up, though, and he doesn’t want to do it tonight, not when he already feels exhausted with how much he’s revealed, with the emotional whiplash that’s come from this evening, the course of which Lucas could never have anticipated.

Eliott knows it, too. He picks up Lucas’ hand when they’re both done eating, and presses a kiss to his palm. “I think,” he says, eyes low, lips brushing against Lucas’ skin, “that we’ll just have to learn to trust each other.”

Lucas frowns. “I trust you.”

“Alright,” Eliott amends, kissing Lucas’ palm again, “we’ll have to learn to trust us. Together.”

Lucas nods, slides his palm up to cup Eliott’s cheek. “Okay,” he whispers, gently pulling Eliott’s face close to his. It’s darker in the kitchen now, the light from the candles faint, moments away from flickering out.

“But it won’t happen right away.”

“No,” Lucas says, brush their noses together. “It’ll happen day by day. Minute by minute, if you like.”

Eliott smiles into a kiss, Lucas’ hand shifting to the back of his head, trying to hold him there, but Eliott breaks away, their lips parting with a smack. He stands, collecting their plates and carrying them to the sink.

“Hey, come back,” Lucas whines. “We can clean up later.”

Eliott shakes his head, smiling, rinsing the plates under the tap, then leaving them in the sink. “I know, but there’s more that I planned, if you want to see it.”

“You mean the pizza wasn’t it?”

“No, the pizza wasn’t it,” Eliott mocks, drying his hands on a dishtowel. He tosses the towel onto the counter and walks over to the table, grabbing the bottle of champagne in one hand and their empty cups in another. “I said I’d show you romance isn’t dead, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Lucas feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, a hopeless, infatuated smile. “You did say that, didn’t you?” He stands from his chair, steals the bottle from Eliott’s grip and takes a big swig from it. “I am your boyfriend now, so you better impress me.”

“Do I need to remind you I planned this when I already thought you were my boyfriend?”

Lucas can’t hold back the giggle that bubbles out of his throat. He couldn't stop it if he tried. “Show me then,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Wait here,” Eliott orders, taking the bottle back and disappearing into the hallway, Lucas following him enough to see Eliott disappear into his room, shutting the door behind him.

It’s only a few minutes, enough time for Lucas to blow out the candles on the dining room table, to wander over to the record player in the living room and turn it off. It’s enough time for him to catch his own reflection in the mirror in the hallway, to see his own big, dumb smile, and for him to think, _I can’t believe this is where we’ve wound up_ , and for him to think, _he really is a hurricane, isn’t he?_ Lucas feels a little bit like he’s been turned inside out, that he’s still scrambling to catch up with everything that’s happened since he got off work that day. But he also feels a little bit like he’s woken up from a good dream, only to realize the dream was real.

“Hey.” Eliott is poking his head out of his bedroom, a dark silhouette in the shadowy hallway. “Come on,” he says, and Lucas can hear the nerves in his voice, the slight shake on the tips of the words.

Lucas goes to him, following Eliott back inside the room, the door shutting behind them.

Lucas has been inside Eliott’s bedroom a few times, now. He’s familiar with it, with the double bed pushed against the wall, the dresser on one side, the bookcase on another. He’s familiar with the wooden desk underneath the window and the stack of canvases in the corner. He’s familiar with pencils and paints and charcoals being scattered about the floor, familiar with dirty socks and half-finished coffees and a full ash tray on the windowsill.

This is a completely different room.

The dresser has been shifted over so Eliott could turn his bed on its side, creating an open space in the middle of the room. Everything on the floor has been cleared, all the stray art supplies and dirty laundry, and instead there’s a mountain of pillows and blankets.

A curtain has been drawn over the window, and while Lucas can still hear the rain, it’s dark inside, the only light coming from some sort of small projector Eliott has hooked up near the door, the faintest pink haze washing over the room.

But more than that, there are stars everywhere.

Lucas’ breath catches in his chest, an audible gasp coming from his parted lips. There are stars on the walls, the ceiling, touching the edges of the pillow and blanket nest.

Lucas has never seen anything like it.

“Do you remember last week,” Eliott is saying, voice barely above a whisper, “when you were complaining about the rain. You said you missed the stars.”

Lucas does remember that. He and Eliott were standing outside of the cinema after they saw an action film Lucas had barely paid attention to, far more interested in Eliott’s hands and Eliott lips. They'd been hiding from the pouring rain under the cinema's marquee, and Lucas had looked out into the street and sighed.

_I fucking hate it when it rains like this. There’s no break from the clouds. Ever._

_You miss the sun?_

_You know what? More than anything I miss seeing the stars at night._

_Yeah?_

_Yeah. Do you miss the moon?_

_I do._

Lucas had forgotten all about that conversation. Apparently Eliott hadn’t.

He must be quiet for too long because Eliott’s voice is all nerves when he asks, “Do you like it?

And Lucas can’t think of answer that isn’t along the lines of, _Eliott, if you keep doing shit like this I’m probably going to fall in love with you_.

He tries, though. “Eliott…” His mouth has dropped open in disbelief, his arms limp at his sides. “This is…”

He turns suddenly, so quickly into Eliott’s space that Eliott takes an aborted step back, eyes wide.

“No, no, come _here_ ,” Lucas says, wrapping his arms around Eliott’s shoulders and standing on his toes. “Fucking baby giraffe,” he grumbles nonsensically before he kisses him, trying to pour every single thing he’s feeling into the press of their lips. He pulls back and Eliott looks dazed, eyes hooded, gaze on Lucas’ mouth. “No one has ever done something like this for me.” Lucas tells him, falling back onto his heels, Eliott bending to follow him. “It’s…it’s so beautiful Eliott, thank you.”

“It wasn’t really…” Eliott still looks dazed, eyes travelling from Lucas’ lips to his eyes and back down. “I didn’t do that much. Sofiane helped me out. He wants to do something similar for Imane, can you imagine?”

Lucas actually can imagine, and he can imagine Imane giving Sofiane shit for it while being so embarrassingly happy at the same time.

But that’s not—

“You did a lot. You…you remembered something I said and you made it into something so…” Lucas trails off, kissing Eliott instead of searching for more words. When the separate, he tugs Eliott further down, tightens his hold on him into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into Eliott’s ear. “You’re already the best boyfriend.”

Eliott’s arms are around Lucas’ back, his face buried into Lucas’ neck. His voice is muffled, but Lucas still hears it when he whispers, _I’d give you real stars if I could._

They dive into the pillow nest together, laughing and rolling around on the soft blankets, ending up with Lucas straddling Eliott’s hips, reaching over to grab the champagne bottle from where Eliott set it down on the floor.

Eliott sits up, resting his hands on Lucas’ thighs for balance. “A toast?”

Lucas nods. “A toast.” He takes a drink from the bottle, loosely holding onto the neck. “To us,” he says, the very picture of youthful indulgence, “And to the moon and stars.”

He hands holds the bottle out to Eliott, who takes a drink as well, eyes locked on Lucas’. He swallows. “To the moon and stars.” He agrees.

“And us.”

“And us.”

The champagne bottle gets emptied, which is probably for the best because then it gets lost in the blankets, forgotten when Lucas leans down and kisses Eliott, and Eliott kisses him back, hands running up and down Lucas’ back. Those hands slide under Lucas’ sweater and then it’s gone, and Eliott’s shirt is gone and they’re kissing, skin against skin under their starry sky.

Lucas’ head lolls back on his neck and Eliott dives in, mouth against his adam’s apple, travelling down to his collarbone, to his shoulder, lips and tongue and teeth. He’s so warm, Eliott is just so warm and Lucas wants to feel more of him, so he rolls over onto his back and tugs at the waistband of Eliott’s sweats and those are gone too, and Lucas’ are gone but it’s not enough, _it’s not enough_ , so Lucas pulls at Eliott’s briefs and from one moment to the next there they are, bare skin on bare skin.

There’s a desperation to their movements, to the searing kisses and wandering hands, to the arch of Lucas’ back and the weight of his inner thigh pressed against Eliot’s hip. It’s desperate but it’s sweet, in the way Lucas gasps into Eliott’s mouth, in the way Eliott reaches a hand up to brush Lucas’ hair back from his face, in the way they can’t stop looking at each other.

Lucas asks, _do you have a condom_ , and Eliott shoots up so fast from the floor he actually does fall, tumbling towards his desk and swearing so loudly Lucas cackles into the pillows, Eliott sending a raised middle finger in his direction.

He comes back just as quickly, collapses into Lucas’ waiting arms, both of them laughing, both of them sighing when they kiss again, as though the ten seconds Eliott was away were too much.

They’re a tangle of limbs coloured dusty rose, they’re the pale yellow of celestial bodies, a star catching onto Eliott’s right shoulder that Lucas bites down on when Eliott enters him, Lucas practically able to taste the edges of space. He presses the rings of Saturn into Eliott’s back, nails digging in, Eliott retaliating by biting a mark into Lucas’ neck that he knows will be blue, purple, Neptune and all it’s mysteries mapped out on his skin.

He doesn’t think Eliott means to say it, but it comes out anyway, grunted into Lucas’ neck, an illicit confession, so out of character with it’s possessiveness.

 _Mine_ , Eliott says, and Lucas doesn’t think he meant to say it, but he did, and Lucas likes it. He likes it a lot.

When Lucas comes, he doesn’t have to close his eyes to see stars.

They lay together afterwards, sweaty and exhausted, Lucas’ head pillowed on Eliott’s chest, Eliott’s fingers stroking across Lucas’ shoulder, down his arm. They’re both on their backs, staring up at the ceiling and tracing constellations with their fingers.

_Orion’s Belt._

_The Little Dipper._

_I don’t think that’s the Little Dipper._

_Oh, you’re an expert now, are you?_

_There’s one there_. A carefully traced shape. _I’m calling it Lucas._

_Is there one called Eliott?_

_Maybe._

__Outside, it’s raining in Paris, a heavy rain, the rain of mystery novels and romance films._ _

__(It will keep raining tomorrow. And the day after. The Parisians are bored. The tourists complain.)_ _

__But that’s fine, because there’s an apartment in the city, a place that’s holding all of the stars inside it, in case you ever miss seeing them during the night. It’s the home of an island and a hurricane._ _

__No. It’s the home of a raccoon and a—_ _

__No. It’s the home of one boy, but there’s another boy, and maybe those boys have a long way to go, maybe those boys are soft and sweet and sometimes sad, and maybe those boys need each other a lot more than they thought they ever would._ _

__But that’s why people have other people. That’s why people belong to one another._ _

__So maybe those boys aren’t forces of nature, maybe they’re just human, just boys with bleeding hearts, but maybe, for one night, the stars, barely awake behind thick clouds, were jealous of them._ _

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you so so so much for reading <3 
> 
> and as always, come cry with me about true love on tumblr [@lepetitepeach](https://lepetitepeach.tumblr.com)


End file.
